You Better Know When to Hold 'Em

On the weekend, I went to the casino. I played blackjack and won $25. Feeling that blackjack had become a bit too easy, I wanted another challenge.

I wanted to try my luck at poker, having seen it on TV all the time. Looked easy enough. Bet some money. Either win or lose. So I put my name on a waiting list to play poker. Half an hour later, my name was called, and I sat down to play $1-2 blind no-limit Texas Hold 'Em.

As someone in Rounders said, "If you can't spot the sucker in the first half hour at the table, then you ARE the sucker." Good thing I spotted the sucker in a second.

Problem was, I was the sucker.

I was in way over my head. There was the typical greasy-haired dude, shuffling hundreds of dollars of chips while looking all beady-eyed, scrutinizing all the players. Other people bet $50 or $100 without a second thought. Immediately realizing that I was fresh meat, the old lady next to me gave me advice, though I was too fresh to put it to any good use. The one thing that stuck out was that I was playing at the wrong table for someone with no experience.

Everything went really quickly, and I didn't have time to process anything happening at the table, except my fear of screwing up. I folded most of my hands without a bet. Every time I put money into the pot, I folded whenever another player raised.

In the end, feeling like raw meat in a sea of starving sharks, I got up and left the table.

I lost a humbling $10 in an hour of poker. I still ended up winning $12 overall at the casino, although I felt like I had lost.

New Job, Old Thought

So I got me a new job working in a pharmacy in the north-east end of town. It should be fun, dealing with an interesting mix of seniors, Indian affairs, the slightly downtrodden and various other groups. I'll be working 1-2 times a week. It'll be a good learning experience, on my way towards the path of respectability.

I did some LARPing on Saturday. No, not the stuff with swords and helmets. Rather, I was a pharmacist and an actor played a 50-something year old cancer patient. When she pretended to cry, I wasn't sure what to do. Was I supposed to give her a hug, give her a tissue, or something else? Spying the Kleenex box at the edge of the table, I decided to give her a tissue the moment she shed a tear. Although her eyes were watery, no tears formed. After a few seconds, I decided to give her a tissue anyway, despite the lack of tears. She gladly accepted.

This reminds me of the time in elementary when the teacher brought up the question, "Does anyone know what role-playing is?" Being the D & D geek that he was, Kev eagerly raised his hand, practically foaming at the mouth to answer, like he REALLY had to go to the bathroom, and couldn't wait for fear of his bladder exploding. I'm pretty sure Mike and maybe Warren were also about to explode.

The teacher picked some girl and she answered, saying something like it was someone pretending to be another person, like acting.

When Kev finally realized that we were not going to kill a golem during class, he reluctantly went back to his miserable existence, thinking of the most efficient way to skin a cat.

New Car, Old Car

We just bought a new 2007 Toyota Rav4. It's a pretty sweet ride, being a new car and all. They updated the model this year, so it's a lot better than previous years's models and the current Highlander, which is supposed to be the next higher end model. Can't wait to test it out, driving around like I own the road and being dismissive of everyone else driving their crappy, old, rusty cars.

So now we got a 1989 Plymouth Voyager LE minivan for sale.

Anybody got any good ideas for selling the minivan?

Anybody actually want to buy the minivan? $1000 OBO? What would you pay for the car?

Reunion on Whyte: El Lobo Remix

For the original edit, click here.

So, there I was, me and a couple Pharmacy buddies walking down the street. We had just finished a full day of exams, a day before the school year would even start. The exams were supposed to be a cumulative test of the 2 last years of school. Pretty messed up, eh? Yes, I know.

Straight out trippin after our harrowing day, we needed to unwind. We planned to pick up some beers and cigars, and enjoy them on one guy's 18th floor balcony overlooking the U of A hospital.

Out of nowhere, a strange face accosted me. Not strange exactly, but rather unexpected. It was one of my best friends, Warren.

He was supposed to be back in town, only I didn't know when. He and his friend were going to meet up with our old high school friends, people we ain't seen in years after a chance encounter on the street. He said that he was looking for some tea cafe. And he was with Pete Wong.

"Oh yeah, where he at?" said I.
"He be on his way," said Warren. "Just you wait."

A half minute later comes Slippery Pete, loping around like an armless chicken dressed in a nice fancy suit. He looked the same since the last time I saw him, on the streets of Toronto.

After I gave Pete a chest bump for old times' sake, Warren and Pete still needed to find this place called Steeps.

I ditched my original Pharmacy crew, being that I was going to see them tomorrow.
"We'll see you on the 18th," said they.
"There better be some stuff when I get back," said I.

At Steeps, there was Karr-Ming and Leila, the VB pack.
KM was now running one of the hospitals in town; the recently engaged Leila had returned from a long stay in Japan.
KM said about 50-odd people showed up at the 10-year reunion, which actually wasn't too formal, just a gathering at some bar.

Fashionable late came Owen Jung aka OJ aka the Juice. Looking slightly unruffled, carrying a shoulder bag, the Juice was as juiced up as always, feeding off the high from his natural juices. His juice rubbed off on the rest of us.

The Juice sounded like he was about to be living in a cardboard box, if things didn't pick up, back in grad school with no job and loan sharks knocking on his door.
Slippery Pete was now articling his way to the top of a downtown law firm, working mad hours for mad respect.

We talked. We reminisced. Ain't nobody really changed. Throw us into plaid flannel, skater shoes, Mondetta shirts and Rachel haircuts and into a 10 year time machine and nobody would've missed a step.

Later, on the balcony, I had a beer and a cigar as I watched the slowing trickle of traffic down below.

A Trip to the Charcuterie

Yesterday, I finished my hospital pharmacy rotation. No patients were harmed (by me) during the course of my rotation. Of course, 10 days is hardly enough to see everything you want. It's barely a cup of coffee, as some might say.

So, at night, I went with some pharmacy friends and friends of friends to Whiskey, Calgary's premiere charcuterie. Fortunately, one of the guys knew the owner, so the guy wearing sneakers was allowed in, despite not fitting the dress code.

As meat markets go, there was a wide range of variety, better than I've seen in Edmonton. White meat, dark meat. There were some prime cuts, meat past its expiry date, and the always popular meat of indeterminate origin. Of course, it was imperative to avoids meats afflicted with Mad Cow Disease, since the effects could be deadly.

There were some really juicy and succulent looking steaks out there, with some real spicy seasoning. They were some choice steaks just sizzling in the pit, stewing and tenderizing in the own juices. Simply mouth-watering.

Of course, there was lots of sausage out there, too, which I was not particularly interested in. There were some strange kebabs on display, too, like a steak sandwiched between sausages.

As it turns out, there is a nice prime rib grilling steak in my fridge just waiting to be seasoned, barbequed and devoured.

Mmmm...I'm hungry.

Update: Thanks for Cibbuano for pointing out boulangerie was the wrong word. Though I gotta say boulangerie sounds funnier.